Never Truth

12

“Absolutely,” I assured him. At least the books were one thing I was confident I could handle. “I’ve worked with Gabe on his records a number of times, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” “Excellent. I’m proud of you, son. I know this may all seem like a lot to take in at once, but I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do it. You’ve impressed everyone in the organization over the past years with your dedication and loyalty. Keep it up, and I see great things in your future.” He smiled at me warmly, and I forced a grin in response. “Thank you, Mr. Genovese. I promise, I won’t let you down.” I stood and reached for his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I have a few things to take care of. Are you good to let yourself out?” If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he had a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Of course. You have a good evening.” I tipped my head and made for the hallway, glancing left with the intention of turning right toward the front door. But at the sight of light coming from the end of the hall, my feet betrayed me. Rerouting my intended destination, I stepped farther down the hall toward the soft glow. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. It was like my brain had shut down and instinct had taken over. Inside the home where she grew up, I could feel Sofia’s presence everywhere. I wasn’t ready to leave. The happiest moments of my life had been spent with her, and a part of me yearned to relive them. To have that piece of my life back. She had just graduated, and I’d been stunned when I received an invitation to her party. Now that I’d been given my assignment, it made a hell of a lot more sense. Enzo said she would be staying with them. Had she already moved back home? The light shined from the doorway of her old studio. I couldn’t resist the temptation to close the short distance and peek inside the room. What they say is true—curiosity killed the cat. Taking those last steps was a monumental mistake, and I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her golden hair piled on her head in a messy bun. I could remember the silky texture of her hair as my fingers threaded through her long waves. I knew the soft warmth of her skin against my lips as if it had only been hours since our last kiss. I could even recall the strange tightness that spread through my chest every time she gazed up at me with an adoring smile on her face. It wasn’t just a flood of memories. I was suddenly drowning in a deluge of remembered sensations—her floral scent that clung to her hair and clothes, the sound of her squeal when I tickled her, and the way I looked forward to seeing her every day at school. The memories seized my lungs, making my chest burn in protest. It was a good thing she stood with her back to me, lost in her painting, because I couldn’t look away. I was still totally and utterly lost for her, and it pissed me the f**k off. I should have known my feelings would remain just as strong now as they had been back then. Sofia wasn’t the type of girl you forgot. She wasn’t like any other girl, period. It was easy to see in her artwork, if nowhere else. Even as a little girl, Sofia didn’t paint rainbows and flowers. Her canvases portrayed flocks of screeching blackbirds or a small ship doomed in the open waters of a raging sea. In her makeshift studio, dressed in tiny shorts and a top that was falling off one shoulder, Sofia painted on a canvas depicting a pile of three skulls. It was dark, and morbid, and breathtaking. A part of me wondered what she would do if I were to make myself known. Would her face contort in anger as she relived the awful things I’d said and done? Would she throw her brushes at me and scream for me to leave? Or would it be even worse? Would she look at me with total indifference? The thought lodged in my throat as I stepped back from the doorway. Regardless of what her reaction would be, I would find out soon enough. I wasn’t in a rush for judgment day. I silently made my retreat to the front door and let myself out. After the day I’d had, I was ready to lose myself in a bottle of scotch until the memories were a blurry haze. The Saddle Bar was a local joint hidden in a basement with hardly a sign to direct new traffic toward its dilapidated entry. The patrons inside were either regulars or folks who had been brought in by a regular. It was where most of the guys I knew hung out, and where I planned to spend the rest of my delightful evening drinking myself stupid. “Well, look who’s here. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Started to think you found another place to drown your troubles,” called the bartender as soon as I walked in. “Petey, you know you couldn’t get rid of me that easily,” I shot back as I sat on a stool at the far end of the bar. Pete owned and operated the Saddle Bar and knew just about every man and woman who entered his doors. He helped them get home if needed and conveniently forgot who had been in when questioned by the authorities or angry wives. He had to be pushing seventy, but he was a stand-up guy. He made the place feel like home. I hadn’t even had a chance to take a sip of my drink when a hand clasped over my shoulder. “Who do we have here? I’d say it’s someone who just got a promotion. Congratulations, man!” Tony Pellegrini and I had been friends in grade school and were initiated around the same time. His father had been a wellrespected capo, and when the man passed away, Tony took his place even though he’d been young for the position. “I figured you might be out celebrating tonight, although your little party of one here isn’t exactly what I envisioned.” He took a seat next to me after giving me a hug and a loud pat on the back. “Thanks, Tone.” “Your excitement is overwhelming. Try to calm down.” “It’s not that.” I glanced around for eavesdroppers. “I got my first assignment tonight, and I have no idea how the f**k I’m supposed to do it,” I explained, speaking softly so that we weren’t overheard. “Oh, yeah? Is it something you can talk about?”